Temple was businesslike in his approach, and had made an effort to accommodate Maisie's inquiry. "I'm sorry I didn't have much time when you telephoned, Miss Dobbs; however, I have managed to locate some information on Michael Clifton. Of course, you understand that your request is somewhat out of the ordinary. We are not used to the bereaved contacting us, especially via a third party."
"Yes, I do understand; yet by the same token, the circumstances of Lieutenant Clifton's enlistment and service are unusual-he was an American citizen, so I would have thought he might have been turned down for service."
Temple shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I wish it were as simple as that, Miss Dobbs. It's so easy, after the event, to look at what procedure should have been employed, but in a time of war people do what they feel is right to get the job done." He picked up a folder on his desk and untied a short length of twine securing the pages inside. "I have here Clifton's enlistment details, and the notes of the officer on duty at the time. Clifton had evidence of an impressive background in a field in which we had to improve-that of cartography. He had an engineer's university education and had worked as both a surveyor and a cartographer, and he was familiar with developments in measuring the land. He was young, clever, and inquisitive, and we were trying to get new tools and practices out into the field, using sound and aerial photography. In short, he was exactly the sort of chap we were hoping to recruit. Clifton was just what we wanted."
"Major Temple, you sound as if you knew him personally."
Temple shook his head and looked down at his notes. "No, I didn't. I was an artilleryman in the war. But I know what our priorities were, and I know that Michael Clifton would not have been turned away. The fact that his father was a British citizen was in his favor-if the infantry were turning a blind eye to age in a bid to recruit, then we could let a matter of citizenship go through without comment."
"Yes, so I understand."
"I don't know if you are aware of the problems we faced in the early months of the war," said Temple.
"It has been explained to me."
Temple went on as if he had not heard. "The French were the world's best mapmakers, yet the maps of their own country were pitiful, and we were working to different scales-it was a nightmare."
Maisie nodded, but her interest was more immediate. "I'd like to know more about Lieutenant Clifton's record vis-a-vis personal interaction with his peers and superiors. Was he liked? What did his commanding officer say about him?"
Temple shrugged. "I get the impression he was well liked, an affable chap." He opened the folder again. "Typical of those Americans, eh? Says here that he was always one to keep the spirits up, would help out, and was exceptionally brave-he and his men had been targeted by a sniper in the weeks before he was listed among the missing, and he had carried a badly wounded soldier back to the dugout with him, then went out again to bring back the body of another. He apparently did not want to leave the man to the rats of no-man's-land."
"Major, I wonder, do you have the names of the other men who died alongside Lieutenant Clifton? I'm particularly interested in a man named Mullen."
Again Temple consulted the notes and flicked through the pages. "Hmmm, yes."
Maisie leaned forward. "You have him listed?"
"As you probably know, we received notification that the bodies of Clifton and others in the unit were recently discovered, but Mullen isn't listed here. However-" He turned the pages to one he had looked at earlier. "Yes, here it is, thought I'd seen that name before. The wounded man, the one who Clifton brought back, was named Mullen. Seems he owes his life to Clifton, but I obviously have no record of his whereabouts after his medical discharge."
"Of course, yes." She paused. "And who was Lieutenant Clifton's commanding officer?"
"His immediate superior was a Captain Jeremy Lockwood, and according to the file, Lockwood was killed several weeks before Clifton was listed as missing. Single sniper bullet to the head."
"That's all in Clifton's notes?"
"Not all held as part of his military record, but I thought I'd try to dig further, in anticipation of your questions."
"That was good of you to go to the trouble. Thank you."
Temple looked at his watch, at which point Maisie stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you for your time, Major. You have been most helpful."
"Doesn't seem much, really. Mind you, his father must be well-heeled-if you excuse the pun-being from Clifton's Shoes."
"Is that sort of information held as part of his military service record?" Maisie thought for a moment. "It's not an uncommon name, though I suppose Michael might have mentioned the connection to support his claim of British ancestry."
Temple looked down at his notes once again and closed the file. "Well, it must have been written up somewhere." He cleared his throat, then looked up. "Let me escort you to your motor car. The weather looks as if it will hold for a clear journey back to London. Are you a Londoner by birth, Miss Dobbs, or…" Temple continued the conversation as they made their way downstairs, along the paneled corridor, and out into the afternoon light. Maisie barely said a word, aware that the very correct army officer was allowing her little opportunity to interject, or put another question to him. He had given her sufficient information, then a little bit more to keep her happy, though she thought the comment regarding Clifton's Shoes was a slip he regretted. It was, she thought, an interview with a man quite used to dealing with questions from outside the establishment, and his responses-just enough here, a snippet more than requested there-were designed to ensure there would be no more inquiries forthcoming.
Where do we look for Mullen? Maisie knew that such a search could be lengthy and lead to a dead end, but she thought it was important to find the man who owed his life to Michael Clifton, and who-she hoped-would be able to identify the officer with whom Clifton had experienced some antagonism. The journal entries might offer a clue to Mullen's origins, some mention of where he came from, any loose thread of information that could be unpicked.
As Temple predicted, the weather was kind for the rest of the day, and Maisie enjoyed the drive, which at one point commanded a view across the North Downs before she went on to London. The way in which the light moved across the hills caused Maisie to pull onto the side of the road for a few moments. As clouds crossed the sun, each beam slanted down on the earth's folds and inclines, giving an impression of movement, as if searchlights were in pursuit of a vanishing day. She wondered if this was how a cartographer might begin his work, simply by standing at a vantage point and regarding the land he must interpret for others to find their way. It occurred to Maisie that, just as Whitting had described, the cartographer must be both the artist and the technician. He must be the storyteller and the editor, seeing the curves and movement of the land with a practiced eye, and then bringing a mathematical precision to the page. If he was wrong, then people would become lost on their journey. And if the mapmaker had been charged with interpreting a field of battle, then his errors would cause men-many, many men-to die.
Maisie resumed her journey, and soon, with the country behind her, she drove first through the ever-growing suburbia, then into London and along the Old Kent Road towards the West End. She arrived at four o'clock, in time to see Billy walking across the square.
"Hello, Billy!" Maisie called out and waved as she entered the square from Fitzroy Street.
"Afternoon, Miss." He smiled as she approached. "How did you get on this morning?"
"It was interesting, I'll say that for my day so far. Let's get up to the office, and I'll fill you in on what I've found out. Any luck with those names?"